Five Times Mike Apologized to Harvey
by Gandalf3213
Summary: ...and one time Harvey owed an apology to Mike. 4: Mike didn't really mean to imply Josh didn't care who got hurt in the middle of his vendetta with the NYPD, but it was undeniably his fault the younger Specter was in a bad neighborhood at four in the morning, getting his ass handed to him.
1. Chapter 1

_"Anyone comes at you with any threat at all you come to me. I don't care if it's the Queen of England. You come to me. You tell me. You tell me everything. That's what goddamn loyalty is." **Harvey Specter**_

_"Harvey is not Superman anymore. He's Batman. Batman needs Robin." **Louis Litt**_

**.***.**

He really meant to go to Harvey, but he passed out first.

Mike Ross's last two week had been truly horrible. First he'd been plagued by those awful nightmares of Rachel exposing him, Rachel leaving him, Rachel wanting nothing to do with him now that she knew he'd cheated a corner on the way to the job she so desperately wanted. And the second week—oh the second week had been dreams of Harvey. Dreams where Harvey had done as he promised and forgotten all about Mike, forgotten that he'd once cared for a stupid genius drug-addict.

Louis told him that he'd made Harvey into Batman. Mike had spent much of his childhood in Trevor's room, reading the dime Batman comics they could get from the drugstore. Trevor's favorite multiverse had been _The Dark Night_, about the loner who looked out for Gotham and toed the line between doing what was right and doing what was necessary. But Mike had been a sucker for the _Batman and Robin_ universe, and would plead with Trevor every week to watch the cartoon with him. And Trevor would grudgingly admit that this Batman was okay, he guessed. Mike would shrug. He wasn't looking at Batman. He was looking at Robin. And maybe he identified too much with the orphan who melted the heart of stone. Maybe he'd never really forgotten about those Saturday mornings where he would have given anything in the world for someone to swoop in and adopt him away from his problems. Show him a way to a more fulfilling life.

It was Batman he was thinking of, a Batman who looked so much like Harvey it hurt, when he passed out.

It was a hot, hot day in a New York summer. He was in a part of Brooklyn that very closely resembled Gotham minus the useful Batman. And he had been beaten up for the fourth time in a week. No one cared. Eventually he came to, when the sun was peeking over the tops of the buildings, and dragged himself home.

They'd taken his wallet, but after the first three times he'd stopped keeping more than a few dollars on him. Mostly they'd just beaten him.

He should tell Harvey. But Harvey didn't want anything to do with him, not yet, not until he could get him a win. So he took a shower instead and tried not to look at his bruised torso in the mirror. The worst part was that he would not be able to go over Rachel's house looking like this. She would be concerned, overly concerned, and he didn't want her smothering sympathy. He wanted Harvey.

Before he'd passed out, he'd really thought he would tell Harvey, just march into the office and tell the older man about the South Brooklyn Boys and their nightly prowl. But in the light of day that seemed whiny and childish. It seemed like he was begging for attention. _Look at poor little Mike. Can't stick up for himself to Jessica. Can't stick up for himself anywhere_. So Harvey wouldn't know. He could stand Harvey ignoring him. He couldn't stand it if Harvey knew how bad his neighborhood had gotten, and with that knowledge he turned his back. In this case, for both of them, ignorance was bliss.

Pearson Darby was a surprisingly cordial place to work. They had not been invaded by an excessive amount of English people and those that had invaded were ridiculously polite. He didn't know if this was because they were in a new space or this was the usual temperament of Britons. Mike had never been outside the country.

A cordial place to work did not mean a necessarily observant once. Mike combed his hair over his black eye, was grateful when Rachel texted him that she would be at another large law firm using their library for most of the day, and entered the associate pen at eight o'clock to no unusual stares.

His head throbbed, but he took it to be mostly sleep deprivation. Unconsciousness was not the same as sleep.

Mostly he held a hand to his side, because it hurt, burned, and tried to work past it. He was finishing a brief for Louis, something very simple that was probably a gesture of _please don't leave, you make Harvey bearable_. Sometimes Louis was inscrutable. Mostly, Mike was trying to surreptitiously help Harvey.

"Where do you think you're going with that?"

"Donna, please," Mike tried to keep the sigh out of his voice. He ached everywhere and he was hungry. He couldn't remember the last time he ate. Also, being at odds with the secretary was almost as bad as being at odds with Harvey.

Donna snatched the folder out of his hand, not looking at his face. Thank god. She'd have a witty remark about the black eye for sure. "You know Harvey can do his own paperwork."

"I found something about Darby and-"

"He already knows."

"Well, I also found-"

Donna snapped the folder shut. "How can I say this so you believe me? Harvey doesn't need you anymore. We don't need you."

Mike swallowed at the cold look in Donna's eyes. "I'm just trying to…I don't know how to fix this."

"This isn't you playing with another kid at recess," Donna said, putting the folder in the trash can. "This is you betraying the person who had your back for two years when he could have had you thrown in jail."

"I—right. Okay." He felt sick. His side burned, and pressing a hand against it wasn't helping anymore. Still, he tried to have the last word, "I'm not going to stop trying. I'll do anything."

Donna laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "Always the puppy. So eager to please." She pointed a finger at Mike, "We've outgrown you."

Knowing this to be absolutely true, Mike walked away before she could catch sight of his black eye and report that to Harvey, too. His desk was close. He could get work done and sit and lose himself in files and legalese and briefs. But somehow, through all the pain, his stomach was growling incessantly.

This would be a nice time to have a girlfriend. If Rachel were in the building he could just ask her to get him a sandwich. This would be a nice time to have friends. The realization that he was alone wasn't a new one, but that didn't make it sting any less.

By the time he got down to the street he realized blood was seeping through his shirt. Which was probably why his side was hurting anew. Great. Riding back home to get a new shirt had not been something he wanted to do in the middle of the day heat. But at least he could make himself some lunch while he was there.

It was only the thought of the apples Rachel had brought over last week that kept him peddling around the pedestrians, made slow and lethargic by the heat. And he was still thinking about the apples when he was knocked off his bike by the same group of people who'd beat him up last night, and the morning before, and the morning before that.

"Ya just won't take the hint, huh _stronzo_?"

"I'm stubborn like that," Mike said, levering himself off the ground.

"Well that stubbornness is gonna make you bleed," one of the group cackled, eyes narrowing. "Stubbornness makes you _dead_."

They would have killed him, too. They would have killed them and it might have taken all night for Rachel to care, a day before she worried. And then Mike Ross would have passed from the world disgraced, leaving almost no one behind to mourn him. And in five years, ten, everyone would forget he'd even been there at all.

The gang would have killed him if a cop who'd drawn the short straw and had to patrol in the heat hadn't come around the corner and shouted at the group until they dispersed. He would have just died there on the dirty sidewalk if the cop hadn't held his head off the ground and said _I'm calling an ambulance. It'll be here any minute. You'll—you'll be fine, man. You'll be golden. _

Mike wanted to tell him not to bother.

.***.

When Mike opened his eyes the first thing he saw was a suit jacket draped carefully over the back of a chair. This was a suit jacket unlike any he could afford, yet he knew it very well. Oh god.

"Apparently you haven't put Rachel Zane down as your emergency contact yet."

There was a tube in Mike's throat, and so the _I'm sorry _came out garbled. He could barely even open his eyes enough to look at Harvey towering over him.

"So I took the liberty of calling her. I wasn't supposed to be here when you woke up." There was movement, and every fiber of Mike's being was screaming for Harvey not to leave him but there was that tube and there was pain _everywhere_. "She'll be here in a half hour."

Mike finally found the strength to sit up, and then the pain got so intense that he screamed pas the tube, he screamed so loudly that if the hurt didn't rip him apart the sound of the scream would.

He was starting to lose track of how many times he'd passed out this week. Every time he was getting dizzier, less _there_. Obviously this time was the worst, because no way would Harvey's hand me on his shoulder, in his hair, not in real life. No way would Harvey's voice sound like that, rough and _scared_. No way would he be saying, "Don't you dare, Mike! Don't you dare!"

Obviously it was a kind of mirage, a vision brought on by the mind-numbing pain. Because Harvey had never looked more like Batman than he did just before Mike slipped back into the darkness.

.***.

The tube was gone when Mike woke up again, and there was light coming in through the window. Donna was sitting in the chair, working on a crossword puzzle.

The pain was more like an ache now, a reminder all over his body that a gang of pissed off Italian boys had tried to kill him. Mostly he was thirsty. "Donna?" His voice was strange, a croak, an old-man voice.

She flashed a smile before she remembered she was supposed to be mad at Mike. Then her expression darkened again. "Nearly dying is a really underhanded way to make Harvey talk to you again."

"Harvey's not here," Mike pointed out. He wasn't entirely sure Donna was here. He wasn't entirely sure this wasn't a dream. "He doesn't care."

Donna slammed the crossword puzzle on the bed, on Mike's leg, and he groaned. Obviously something in the vicinity of his leg was broken. He should probably be more concerned about it than he was. "He doesn't _care_? I told him not to care. I reminded him that you are nothing but a back-stabbing puppy. But who do you think spent the last week in here, sweating through all your surgeries? Where do you think he is now?"

"The office?" Mike ventured, looking at the pitcher of water on the bedside table hopefully. He really wanted his voice to stop sounding like this.

"At the courthouse! Prosecuting the gang that jumped you! Who gets jumped by a gang anyway? Are you a greaser? Is this _The Outsiders?"_

"I moved into their neighborhood. They realized where I worked. They thought I was loaded so they demanded five grand to _not _beat me up. It didn't seem like a good enough reason to part with five grand."

"So they beat you up. You don't try to call a greaser's bluff. Street boys don't lie."

"Donna? I really am sorry."

Donna, who had been all bluster and banter a second before, suddenly looked at him. Really looked at him. And she smiled, and this smile wasn't cold at all but sad. "You need more friends, Mike Ross."

"I'm working on it."

"No more passing out."

"I'm working on that, too." He was about to ask for water, about to ask where his girlfriend was, but a spike of pain shot through his side and he couldn't help himself. He swooned like an eighteenth century girl.

.***.

"This is very manipulative way to make me talk to you again."

Mike opened his eyes to Harvey. Rachel had to be lurking around here somewhere but he had yet to see her. "Donna's already covered that."

"I think it bears repeating."

"I'm sorry."

Harvey sighed, pouring himself a glass of water and not giving any to Mike. He supposed he deserved that. "I got three of the gangbangers jail sentences of three to five. The others were minors."

"What were you doing prosecuting a criminal case?"

"I used to work in the DA's office," Harvey reminded him, rolling his eyes. "I think I can get Brooklyn kids a couple of years in prison."

"Right," Mike said, "I forgot that you were Harvey Dent before you became Batman."

"Please. I was always Batman."

Mike looked down at his hands. One had a cast from thumb to elbow. The other had splints around two fingers. How would he sneakily help Harvey now? "Louis doesn't think so. He says you were Superman once. He thinks I made you Batman."

"I'm pretty sure the boatloads of money I've made doing this job made me Batman."

"I had nothing to do with it?"

Harvey put the glass of water down. "Do you really want to be Robin?"

"Yes," the whisper escaped Mike's mouth and he didn't have time to regret it. It was too true. Yes, he'd wanted to be Robin since he was twelve and newly orphaned and saw that there was a way for orphans to save the world.

There was silence. Now instead of pain or even an ache Mike realized he itched everywhere. Being beaten up was a lasting punishment.

"Why didn't you tell me about the Brooklyn Boys earlier?" Harvey asked after the silence had stretched on for nearly five minutes. Mike had taken to counting the ceiling tiles. "Didn't I tell you two weeks ago that you need to come to me about any threat?"

"You didn't mean in my personal life," Mike pointed out, "And anyway, I deserved it."

He dared a glance at Harvey and looked away when he saw that the older man looked sad, of all things. "Do you really believe that? Because gang violence is about as senseless as it gets. No one really deserves it."

"I thought—I never got punished for what I did to you. When Donna screwed up she got fired. And I got an office. So when the gang found me that first night I thought maybe if someone hurt me I wouldn't feel so guilty."

"That's pretty unsound logic," Harvey said, his tone clipped and tight. "You screw me over in a case so it's okay to get yourself killed? Why are the stakes so much higher for you?"

Mike snorted at that. Wasn't it obvious? "Robin's life is worth less than Batman's. It's why Jason Todd died. There's always a new one to replace him."

Harvey made a noise that Mike couldn't bring himself to analyze. He was getting tired again. "I always thought you were more of a Dick Grayson. Or a Damian."

"Nightwing? Batman's son?" Mike yawned, "You know Damian died, too."

"Yeah. But they were the ones Batman cared about the most."

If there was ever a time to wrestle against the allure of unconsciousness, it was now. Mike smiled widely and looked at Harvey, hardly daring to believe what he was implying. "I am so sorry, Harvey."

The room was quiet again. It was quiet for so long Mike fell asleep several times, jerking back awake when his head touched the pillow. Then, just one quiet word. "Okay."

This time, when the blackness took Mike, he let himself slip into it, let it heal him, knowing that when he woke up Harvey would let him back into Wayne Manor.

**.***.**

**That was some extended metaphor. Obviously we like comic books too much.**

**Hope you guys like it. This is just the beginning. There are plenty of things Mike can apologize for.**


	2. Chapter 2

_"Now is not the time to be sorry." **Louis Litt**_

**.***.**

"I'm really sorry, Harvey."

Harvey took the phone off his ear and looked at the screen. His brother Joshua's picture looked back at him, the younger man smirking, one arm around Harvey on top of a ski slope last Winter. It most definitely was not a picture of Mike Ross. "Why the Hell do you have Josh's phone?" He asked, more surprised than worried at this point. "How do you even know Josh?"

Mike's voice was too fast, like he talked when he was guilty or hurt, "I just met him tonight. Stupid dumb luck. I'm really, really sorry."

"You keep saying that," Harvey said, looking at his watch. He was nearly in bed, just about to put down his last cup of coffee and put on sweatpants and sleep for six hours before he got up again. It was twelve thirty am. "What are you sorry about?"

"We're kind of at the police station," he gave the number of the precinct in Brooklyn. "And it would be great if you could spring us from the joint."

That made Harvey start looking for his shoes, straightening his tie again. "That had better be a poorly timed joke. What the hell happened?"

"Bar fight."

Harvey snorted. His cartoonist brother and his puppyish associate were no way actually involved in a bar fight. And then Harvey thought of the important question, the one he should have asked when the wrong person called him from his brother's phone. "Why isn't Josh begging me for money?"

Mike was quiet for a long second, and then said, "this is going to sound worse than it actually is. Josh is fine, Harvey, I swear."

"Mike…"

"They're just cleaning him up. He got banged up. Harvey, it's not bad. They would have taken him to the hospital if it was bad."

He should have known. Calls after midnight usually involved blood, especially if Mike was on the other end of the line. Still, even though he knew, logically, that Mike was right, and any serious injuries would be dealt with at the hospital, his heart sped up. "Just…sit tight. Don't talk to anyone."

"Harv, I am a lawyer. I'm pretty sure I can represent myself to a bunch of local LEOs after a misdemeanor."

"You just got caught in a bar fight. You can pretend to be a responsible adult again another night."

There was soft voices in the background in the background of Mike's end of the call and Harvey found himself subconsciously drawing the phone closer to his ear, fingers tightening around the device. "Umm…Harvey, I gotta go. I'm sorry." There was a yell, and Mike yelped, "I'm sorry."

Then the line went dead.

Getting to Brooklyn after midnight was only slightly easier than getting to Brooklyn any other time of day. Harvey wrestled a slightly amused, mostly exasperated expression on his face. Mike and Josh had gotten arrested together. He spent the drive trying to compute the odds that these two people would ever run into each other.

Luckily, Harvey had friends in all places, and had known a lieutenant at the station, a displaced Boston Irish, from his childhood spent in Massachusetts. "Alright Freddie," he said, breezing in with his five-thousand-dollar suit and briefcase and rolling eyes, "where's the felons?"

"In the cooler, Mista Specta," Fred said, and he didn't look nearly as amused as Harvey expected from someone flush on the victory of getting an old pain in the ass lawyer out of Manhattan at one in the morning. "I gotta tell ya 'afore ya go in there—yar brother is a firecracker, and pissed drunk. We hadda be a little rough wit him or he woudn'ta stayed put."

That made any veneer of friendliness Harvey had managed to acquire on the ride disappear instantly. "A little _rough?_ Freddie—what the hell are you saying?"

"And then da other guy jumped in and he got a little banged up—but yar brother was pretty ornery. We hadda split em up."

What Harvey said was, "Okay. Let me see Josh." What he thought was _I'm going to end up owning the NYPD. By the time I'm finished with you, you'll have nothing._

When Joshua came in from the back room of the station, he gave Harvey a little wave. "Hiya Harv."

"Jesus Christ," Harvey swore, his hands going automatically to brush the bruises already beginning to form on his brother's face, skimming over the swollen cheek, the split lip, "You go ten rounds with The Hulk?"

Joshua was the worst kind of drunk—articulate enough to convince everyone he was sober, but lousy when it came with anything to do with gravity. He leaned against Harvey. "I'm glad dragging you to see _The Avengers_ wasn't a waste."

"What can I say?" Harvey said, trying for flippant, trying to keep his temper under control, "For some reason I identify with Tony Stark."

"Marvel's Batman."

"You bet your ass," he wasn't really concentrating on what he was saying.

"Stop that Harvey," Josh whispered, and it wasn't until that moment that Harvey realized he'd been brushing a thumb over and over on his brother's swollen cheek. It must be painful, and he stopped, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "I'm fine," Josh's voice was still quiet, "really."

Harvey let his breath out. "What happened? Why did I get a call at midnight from—" How had he forgotten until right that moment? But his brother's appearance had blown him away, and anger had replaced concern for his associate. "Where's Mike?"

To Harvey's surprise, Josh smiled a little, "I can see why you like that kid. What, I didn't become a lawyer so you recruited the guy most like me?"

"Joshua…"

"He's getting his arm set. He's _fine_. Sprained wrist, and bruises a little worse than mine."

"Were you guys mugged?" Harvey said, striding over to the officer in charge, ready to demand to see his associate come hell or high water, "And how the hell do you two even know each other?"

"Were you trying to calculate the odds on the way over, C3PO?" Josh asked, standing next to Harvey as he talked to the officer, who told him Mike would be out in a second, he was right now sitting in the captain's office with a cup of coffee and a helpful deputy officer who had done a stint in the army as a medic. When Harvey finished, Josh continued talking like they'd never been interrupted, "Or are you just annoyed that Mike and I can now double team you?"

Harvey rolled his eyes, "you honestly think I'm letting either of you out of my sight after this stunt? And for the love of God, can you tell me what stunt you pulled to land yourself in _jail?"_

Yawning hugely, and then wincing as the yawn pulled at the sensitive skin on his face, Joshua said, "how about the story of how I met Mike? He'll tell you about how he rescued me. I was a damsel in distress tonight Harvey, I really was."

Intrigued, Harvey almost asked to hear this story first, but held his peace. Josh glanced at him, shrugged, and said, "so I was in Brooklyn today to meet with these guys who want to adapt _Cuckoo's Nest_ into a movie, which is so not going to happen because they won't let me write it, and I ended up at this bar late. Danny Conlon bartends there now, remember him?"

"Another Boston transplant?" Harvey said, glancing at Freddie the lieutenant. This world was getting smaller. "And he got you drunk."

"Yup," Josh said happily. He'd decided to sit down when the world started spinning. The world was still spinning, but at least he wasn't moving with it. "And he was asking after you, and I told him you were still a hotshot lawyer, working for Pearson-whatever it is now, and that's when he said there was another guy there who works for Pearson-whatever. And that's how I met Mike."

And then, like they'd called him, Mike's soft voice, "You telling stories about me?"

Harvey crossed the room, already shouting as he walked. "What the _hell_ happened?"

There was a young police officer standing next to Mike, and he cowered in the face of Harvey's wrath but, to the kid's credit, stayed to give Mike's stats anyway, "It's just a sprain, sir. And the lacerations are superficial. We're really, really sorry. We're looking into it, I swear."

Mike's wrist was immobilized by a professional-looking bandage job, and his face looked worse than Josh's, but he still looked chagrined with he locked eyes with Harvey, "Trying to keep you on your toes, Harvey," he rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand, "sorry for waking you."

"Wasn't asleep," Harvey said, waving his hand in a _forget about it_ gesture. He looked at the young police officer-turned medic. "What do you mean '_we're_ really sorry'?"

"You haven't told him?" Mike said, looking incredulously at Josh, who had sat back down in the chair, looking queasy. He held his head in his hand. The headache was coming. Mike didn't meet Harvey's eyes, and lowered his voice, "It was…Jesus, Harv, we got in a fight with cops."

"These cops?" Harvey growled, taking a few steps towards Fred before he felt both Josh and Mike holding him back.

It was Josh's voice he listened to, that slurred, pained tone, "Not them, Harvey. I was just being so fucking stupid."

"Start at the beginning," Harvey said, looking between the two of them, "I'm getting the whole story now."

The whole story actually started nearly six months before, when Josh started drawing political cartoons for _The New York Times_. Not even thirty yet, and he was considered an expert at politics, drawing, and humor. God, sometimes Harvey was so proud of his brother he thought he would burst.

But the first set of comics Josh had done had taken on the NYPD, and the completely inept way they were handling crime. Cops sleeping on the job while the body count rose. They were gallows humor, they were well-drawn, they were an accurate depiction of the current state of the police force. And the police had a big problem with it.

Three months ago Joshua had started being stopped by cops "for routine checks." One month ago there'd been a threatening letter. Harvey pretended he wasn't kept awake at night by the language, _I hope it's a cop that gets to take you out, you faggot prick. _It was besides the point that Josh wasn't gay. Harvey was suddenly afraid to let his brother out of his sight.

"Wow," Mike murmured, looked at Harvey, "no wonder you've been a pain in the ass for a month."

"I'm a constant delight," Harvey said, annoyed. Mike huffed something that sounded suspiciously like _yeah, right_.

Anyway, he'd published another comic this morning, and hadn't really thought anything about it. Then he'd gone to the meeting in Brooklyn, gone to the bar and seen his fellow Boston, and met Mike. They'd had a few beers.

"You had a few beers," Mike pointed out, "I was trying to do work."

"Kiss ass," Joshua said, punching Mike in the arm in a way that would have been friendlier if he wasn't drunk and disproportionately strong. Mike rubbed his arm and was surprised when Josh grabbed his good hand, "Thanks for taking them on buddy. You fight like a girl, but they would've beat the shit out of me if it wasn't for you."

"You were doing all right," Mike said, avoiding the eyes of the Specter brothers, "Sorry they got your face."

"Sorry they got your hand," Josh said, eyes softening. "Seriously. When I saw that guy stomp on your wrist I...well, okay, I threw up." He looked like he was in danger of throwing up now. "But man if they'd done that to me I'd be _gone."_

Mike shrugged, putting his hand behind his back. He'd lost his suit jacket somewhere in the scuffle, which was unfortunate. It was a five hundred dollar jacket. Mike didn't think he'd ever stop hoarding money, counting every last cent.

Harvey looked between the two, "Let me get this straight. Tonight Josh attracted the wrath of New York City cops because he published a _cartoon_ this morning that they took offense to. Mike saw these guys roughing you up and decided to play knight in shining armor. And you both got your asses kicked." He shook his head, "How many people am I suing?"

"Mosta the cops think those cahtoons of yars is pretty dahn funny, Josh," Fred said, "Sue who ya want, Harvey. Just know we's takin' care of it, too. We like bein' in the papers, even if it is the funny papers."

This lessened Harvey's steam just enough to say, "So what are they being charged with?"

"Nothing," the officer-medic piped up, his voice still high and frightened, "We just wanted to get them out of the scene. And make sure their injuries were being looked at. They're completely free to go."

Harvey turned to Fred, "I'll be seeing you in court." He held out a hand and this old acquaintance shook it. Then Harvey glanced over his shoulder, "Okay, children. You're both coming home with me."

"Harvey!" Mike and Josh whined in unison, and then looked at each other and laughed. Halfway through the laughter Joshua gave into temptation and threw up in a nearby trashcan.

In the car Josh slept in the backseat, after being advised out of his shotgun position by the lawyers. Mike watched the city roll by, thinking that it looked much prettier from inside an expensive car, late at night.

It was Harvey who broke the silence, when they were back in Manhattan, "When you called me on the phone tonight you apologized."

"Huh?" Mike was working his jaw. It clicked when it opened, and he wondered if it did that before the officer aimed a good right hook to his head.

"You said you were sorry. For what?"

"Bugging you at home to get me out of jail?" Mike laughed a little, figuring this was more of Harvey's teasing. "Seriously though, thanks for coming."

Harvey looked at Mike incredulously, "You punched out two guys in a bar fight because they were messing with my little brother. You have nothing to apologize for."

"Oh," Mike risked a glance at Harvey's face, "I thought you'd be upset that Josh got hurt."

"You were hurt, too."

"I'm not your brother," Mike pointed out, laughing a little again. Harvey really had to do something about Mike's constant self-deprecating humor.

He navigated through the finally deserted streets, glad that he had the road to look at, glad that he didn't have to actually look Mike in the eye when he said, "I'm glad you met Josh. I always thought you'd get along."

"He's probably amazing when he's sober," Mike said, "but when drunk? Punches like a three year old. Seriously Harvey, it was sad."

They stopped at a red light, and now Harvey had no excuse. He turned to face Mike. "It wasn't just Joshua I was worried about tonight." Mike gaped at him, absolutely speechless, and Harvey smirked, "If you tell anyone I said that I'll claim it was a concussed, drunken fantasy."

Josh mumbled sleepily from the back of the car, "Harvey, you'd make such a good Avenger."

**.***.**

**We can't stop with the comic book thing. And our dad told us reading comics would never help us in the real world.**

**Thanks for all the reviews and favorite for a measley first chapter! Four more installments to go. **


	3. Chapter 3

_"Harvey, I am scared. What if we lose?" **Louis Litt**_

_**.***.**_

At the beginning of October, an unseasonably cold wind blew in over the city. Mike woke halfway through the night to pull on a pair of sweatpants over his boxers before falling back to sleep. It wasn't until he woke for real, at six-ten in the morning, that he realized he'd been so cold through the night that his muscles had contracted painfully, making every movement hurt.

"Ouch! Goddamnit!" he hissed. He stared at the ceiling for a minute, willing his body to stop hurting and wondering if he had anything warm in the apartment. He'd put everything in boxes, hoping to find time to move somewhere better, and he just knew that his good autumn clothes would be at the bottom of the pile.

Six forty-two, and he finally willed himself into the shower, blasting the hot water in hopes that the heat would help the sore muscles. Slowly, so slowly, the tension left his legs, his shoulders, his arms. Mike beat his hand against the tiled wall of his shower and bit his lip to keep from screaming in pain. Fuck Fall and the sudden weather changes. For years, especially in high school, Mike had been on the receiving end of horrible growing pains, which had immobilized him for months at a time as his body protested the inches he gained. Doctors had all promised him this would stop when he finally quit growing _around twenty_, they'd said_, just wait a few more years_.

Yeah, right.

Mike took his time getting out of the shower, and it was seven seventeen when he got around to flipping on the news while he ate breakfast. Halfway through his cereal and banana he switched over to a channel that played old cartoons and risked a few minutes to watch Fred and Barney try to get out of another jam.

He watched most of another episode while trying and failing to come up with a warmer suit jacket. He really had to unpack the boxes that were taking up most of his hallway, and spending almost every night with Rachel didn't produce much initiative.

At seven fifty-four, he gave up on being warm and banked on the bike ride to work to get the blood flowing. Even though he was running late, he swiped the newspaper off of Mr. Romero's stood and leafed through it to find Joshua Specter's new political comic. He was still taking on the NYPD, and the picture made Mike smile broadly. He knew that Josh had gotten more threats since their bar fight a month ago. Sometimes he thought the artist had more guts than all the lawyers at Pearson Darby combined, himself and Harvey included.

After marveling over the comic and flipping to the funny section to see the new strip of _The Cuckoo's Nest_ and reading through _Family Circus_, _Zits, _and _Peanuts_ to boot, it was eight o'five before he was on his bike and peddling across town.

The cooling weather had done a number on Mike's old aching joints, but even he had to admit it was a beautiful day for a bike ride, event through the crowded city streets. Trying to push his muscles to get back to normal, he took a long way around the traffic-congested center streets. Even his phone vibrating a text message couldn't dampen his spirits, which had been much improved since his shower.

Mike rolled his eyes at Harvey's message COURT STARTS AT NINE WHETHER YOU'RE THERE OR NOT. He'd be to the court house with plenty of time to spare. It was eight forty-seven in the morning, and he was feeling good.

With the court house in sight, Mike Ross typed out a message to his boss, SORRY. He rolled his eyes when he saw Harvey get out of his car. The older lawyer had made it sound like he'd been waiting around for his associate to show up, and he was just pulling up, too.

Still a half block away, Mike started talking, "You really should try biking, Harv! Very scenic."

Harvey barely looked up at him, he was rifling through papers, but when he did lift his head his eyes widened—"Mike!"

At eight fifty, Mike's pretty okay morning was completely ruined by a car swerving into his left leg, his ribs, his head, and before he even had time to bounce off the curb all he knew was blackness.

.***.

Harvey loved Fall weather, especially when it was early. He'd been enjoying coffee in the car with the windows down when he got a call from Josh. He was almost at the court house, and when Ray pulled up to the curb he waved his hand, signaling that he knew they had arrived but he needed to stay in the car. It was eight thirty-three in the morning.

"Another one came, Harv," Josh started without even a perfunctory hello. "And—Jesus, it was sent to the house. What am I supposed to do?"

"Are you all right?" Harvey barked, and he hated the way his voice always sounded when he got anxious—he sounded cold and calculating, when really he was just scared. "Where are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm sitting in a diner—ran all the way here—but…this is getting scary, Harvey. My office I can deal with, but I got this one this morning and Paul got one too. Paul has a little boy, Harvey. He has a one-year-old and a cute wife and he got a letter saying that if he didn't shut me up _he'd_ be shut up."

"Success breeds discontent," Harvey said automatically, even as his mind jumped to the possibilities. These people knew where Josh lived, and odds were 'these people' were part of the NYPD. They had the knowledge and the authority to get themselves inside Josh's apartment building, to break his door down, to his little brother. "It's just been a lot of threats. It doesn't sound like these people are serious."

He could hear, even through the phone connection and the traffic sounds right outside, the sound of pencil scratching against paper. Josh always took his frustrations out with his drawings. It was what landed him in this trouble in the first place. "They were serious when they beat me and Mike at that bar," Josh pointed out.

"Stay at my place for a couple of days," Harvey said, and he pretended it was because he could hear the fear in his brother's voice and not because of his own heart beating wildly in his throat, "It's too big, anyway."

"Harvey? Do you think I should stop drawing the police department?"

Every brotherly instinct told Harvey to say yes, but his whole being was made up of the rule that Specter's don't back down from a fight. "We don't negotiate with terrorists, Josh. Tell your editor to send his wife and kid to New England. I hear it's pretty this time of year."

"Thanks Harvey," Josh said, sounding better now that he knew Harvey was on top of this, "See you tonight."

Harvey hung up and stared at his phone, shaking his head. It was nearly nine, and Mike was nowhere in sight. He sent his associate a message, pretending it was because they were going to be late for court and not because every time he got off the phone with Josh he wanted to make sure Mike was okay, too. He just got the text off when a message from Josh came in. He opened it and tried not to grin at the quick sketch, done on the back of a paper diner placemat. It was one of his brother's beautiful sketches, this one of Batman, Robin, and Commissioner Gordon standing tall against the oncoming ranks of men wearing NYPD hats and uniforms.

A text came through a moment later I'M THE COMMISSIONER AND YOU GET TO BE BROODY BATMAN.

Harvey didn't even bother to ask who Robin was. He thanked Ray and told him he'd be out of court in no more than an hour, then got out of the car and shook his head thinking _speak of the devil_ as Mike rode towards him, shivering in a too-thin suit.

He shook his head, ignoring the younger man who was already talking even a block away, and he shuffled through the papers, trying to think of something other than hate mail and death threats. Finally he couldn't ignore Mike any longer and he looked up in time to see an NYPD squad car come barreling down the street. "Mike!"

There was no reason for him to yell, there was no reason for him to think that the squad car was doing anything out of the ordinary, but something about Mike, looking so vulnerable on the spindly bike, and the conversation he'd just had, made him know a split second before it happened.

The squad car swerved and hit Mike hard. Harvey had time to see the surprise on Mike's face—the kid had been mid-smile, mid-wave, happy to see Harvey, happy with the weather and the fact that he was on time, happy—before he crumpled.

By the time Harvey knelt next to Mike, blood was already starting to stain the sidewalk, red like rubies, like a blinking stop light, like the color of a robin's chest as it falls.

.***.

Harvey was in the waiting room before he thought to check his messages. Already he'd used the phone to call an ambulance, to call the police, to call Donna and tell her to make all the necessary excuses. He'd been torn between going down to the police station and demanding names and staying at the hospital with Mike, whose brain had swollen and was in surgery and might not wake up. He'd called Joshua and told him what happened and didn't stay on the phone long enough to speculate, just told him to get down to the hospital, now.

So it wasn't until he was in the waiting room, after he'd tried and failed to wash Mike's blood off his hands, that he thought to scroll through his messages and see if there was something he missed.

Jessica, asking him where he was, then asking him if was all right, then telling him under no circumstances was he to take matters into his own hands, the hit-and-run cowards would be found and brought to justice, but not by him. Harvey erased the messages and decided that asking for forgiveness was always better than requesting permission anyway.

Donna, telling him she would be there as soon as she could, and don't let Mike do anything stupid.

A number he didn't know, who turned out to be Rachel, asking him if he had any more news on Mike's condition. She would be by soon, too.

Even Louis sent his condolences. Harvey suspected the financial wizard had a soft spot for Mike that he would never admit to.

And below all of that, just before nine o'clock, was a single word from Mike. Just SORRY, a one-word apology for not being up to the standards of the great Harvey Specter. And it occurred to Harvey that this apology could be the last communication he would ever have with Mike.

SORRY. Like Mike ever had anything to be truly sorry about in his life. Suddenly, surrounded on all sides by those who routinely saw death, faking credentials in order to be a lawyer sounded laughable, funny, and nothing anyone should spend time worrying about, not when death could come from a swerving police car. SORRY. Mike had spent so much time apologizing after the merger fiasco. SORRY. Mike was an orphan, friendless because of this job that forced him to lie repeatedly, daily. SORRY.

"I told sent a different comic to Paul to run for tomorrow," Josh said, collapsing next to Harvey and offering him a wan smile, "I know Specters don't back down from a fight and I know we don't negotiate with terrorists, but I think we're allowed to play smart, right? Pull back and regroup? Live to fight another day?"

"Yeah," Harvey said, "what's the new comic about?"

"Over a dozen US embassies in the Middle East closed because of Al-Queda threat—that's a little funny, right Harv? I guess everyone doing a little negotiating today—anyway, I had them get steamrolled in a hit-and-run." At Harvey's look Josh smiled and shrugged, "I'm pulling back to regroup, but don't think I'm not going to fire off one last shot." He ran a hand through his hair, glanced at the door down to OR, "How's he doing?"

"It's not looking good."

Josh shuddered and sagged in his seat, "I'm so fucking sorry. I hope he wakes up so I can tell him. Jesus, this is all my fault."

"We don't know that he was targeted because of you. Barely no one knows he's connected to you."

"Except for those pissed-off cops in that bar fight."

"I took care of them, I told you." But cops have friends, and they protected each other, and Harvey didn't have Mike's memory. No matter how many times he went over the hit-and-run, all he saw was Mike's head bouncing off the pavement, the scarlet splash it left behind. Try as he might, he couldn't remember the numbers on the squad car, or the license plate. Ray and other bystanders hadn't even seen it happen until it was over. It might not have even happened at all, except that Mike still wouldn't open his eyes, still wouldn't wake up.

Josh was still looking at the door, "I should have dropped it. This isn't worth it. I like Mike, Harv, I really do. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that,' Harvey ground out. The apologies grated on him, one after another, and he found that he couldn't stand the cadence of a _sorry_. "You got nothing to be sorry about, okay? He'll be okay, and he'll wake up, and we'll find the guys that did this."

"Paul wants to buy a gun," Josh said, not hearing his brother's words, "I hate guns Harvey, you know how much I hate them, but what do I say? No, don't try to protect your little baby from the _cops_?"

"You're staying at my place tonight," Harvey said firmly, as if he hadn't already suggested this hours earlier.

The doors opened and Donna came in, Rachel on her heels. Josh watched them approach and shoved his hands in his pockets, "I think I'll stay here tonight, Harvey, if it's all the same to you."

Harvey wasn't listening to him anymore. Donna had thrown her arms around his neck and he buried his face in his hair and listened to her whispering prayers for Mike Ross's poor, swollen brain.

.***.

Two weeks later, Mike was playing cards with Harvey and Louis and Donna. Louis had won the first five hands and crowed every time, and then let up and let Mike win the next round, which the younger man found both patronizing and sweet.

He went to scoop up three cards in the run—they were playing gin rummy—when his hand shook. Mike took a deep breath and stared at the hand until it stopped moving. "Sorry," he muttered to the rest of the group, who pretended not to know what he was talking about. Except for Harvey, who sighed. Mike felt his cheeks get hot. He hated feeling Harvey's disappointment, and ever since he'd woken up a week ago to a body that didn't quite work right Harvey had been impatient with him.

Once again, Mike's thoughts turned to what he would do if this turned out to be permanent. All the doctors swore up and down it wouldn't be, that he was already improving and would be a hundred percent in a month or two, that it was a miracle. But what if Harvey didn't want to wait a month or two for him to recover? What if he was already looking for a new associate?

"I'm really sorry," Mike said, addressing the whole game but looking right at Harvey, "I'm trying. I really am."

"Stop it," Harvey said, his voice low and hard, "Just—stop."

Mike wilted and looked down at his cards, putting the three kings together and laying them out in front of him, suicidal king on top. "He's just upset he hasn't been able to track down who hit you," Donna said, rolling his eyes, "also, he hasn't been able to watch _Law & Order_ because the nurses keep putting on _Grey's Anatomy_."

"Sorry," Mike said again, not knowing if he was apologizing for the nurses or Harvey's anger or his own uncontrollable shaking.

Harvey threw the cards down, "It's not your fault. Stop apologizing."

"You made yourself a lot of enemies, Mike," Louis said, "If we can't find the guys that hit you before you get out, they may target you again. You think you're up for it?"

Mike looked at Harvey, who was staring out the window. New York spread below them, in all its ugly, bustling glory. Mike couldn't face those streets alone. It wasn't what he was made to do. But when Harvey turned back to him, his expression was open for a moment, soft and compassionate, and Mike nodded to Louis. He was up for a fight, as long as he had a partner by his side. Robin could never do as much good solo.

**.***.**

**You guys have been absolutely amazing with your reception to this. How's the idea of a story arc with the NYPD? And to clarify: we're not making any actual claims against the brave men and women on the actual New York police force. Those guys are heroes. This is all in our heads. But is it interesting?**

**Tell us what you think**


	4. Chapter 4

_"You took a private feud and made it public." **Louis Litt**_

_**.***.**_

Living together was good, for a while.

Mike got frustrated easily. Ever since the accident his hands had been shaking non-stop. Sometimes his legs got in on the action, too. And he found himself spacing out for five, ten, thirty seconds at a time, snapping back to see Harvey staring at him with something like concern, and Mike would rub the back of his neck and pretend he wasn't incredibly freaked out by his own brain.

Harvey hadn't given him a chance to say no, either. On the day he was to be released he just grabbed the associate under the armpit and dragged him down to the car, where Josh was waiting, looking put-out. "He kidnapping you, too?"

"Apparently," Mike forced himself to focus on the younger Specter. "I saw the comic on Tuesday. It was…"

"Brilliant?" Josh put in, "I know."

"Risky," Mike finished, "and I appreciated it. Not necessary, but much appreciated."

Josh's smile softened, and when it did he looked very much like Harvey late at night, when he was listening to jazz records and staring at the city. "Things will turn around. You'll see."

Mike chose to ignore this, instead opting to stick his head through the front seats and poke Harvey, who was driving for once. "Do you plan on releasing us in the near future?"

"Not until releasing you wouldn't prove hazardous for your health. So not the near future. No."

When they got to Harvey's apartment, Mike saw the tell-tale signs that Josh had already been moved in. "Been here a month," Josh confirmed, "and the commute to Brooklyn is a bitch, but Harvey buys the good scotch so there's not much to complain about. Your room is next to mine, by the way. Hope you don't mind Frank Sinatra. I go old school when I draw."

"And he can somehow only draw after midnight," Harvey said, shaking his head, "You get used to it."

And Mike did. He'd never lived with people before, not like this, roommates or cell mates or brothers. He'd had Trevor, and Trevor's sister and brother, and sometimes he'd crash with his family for a weekend or a week, and Trevor's brother would show him how to shoot pool and his sister would straighten Mike's clothes and tell him he was going to be a catch someday, and he'd imagined that's what siblings were like.

Really, living together was a collaboration. It was the difference between Harvey and Mike's grind lifestyle of early mornings and late nights, of papers scattered everywhere and law tomes on the desks, and Joshua's strange comings-and-goings, his afternoon cooking frenzy, his drawings scattered haphazardly over the apartment. There were several of Harvey and even more of Mike. Mike bent over briefs and Mike making coffee and Mike sitting on the couch, laughing.

"You're aware these are kind of creepy, right?" Mike said. He didn't really think they were creepy. He thought they were amazing, and sweet.

Josh waved his hand. "I've been drawing Harvey for years. You're my new model."

For a week, two, three, everything was okay. Fun, even. Mike had always wanted a brother, used to request one for his Christmas present, used to wish for once from the magic of birthday candles. And then the letters to the editor started.

Paul, Josh's agent, barged into the apartment one midnight and collapsed on the couch. He had a fistful of hate mail, but who didn't these days? Harvey tried to toss it before Josh could see how many people didn't like him bashing cops. "They're different," Paul insisted. "This is worse."

"How is it worse?" Joshua asked, his hands skimming over Paul's arm, making quite sure the agent was all right. Paul was his best friend. "How can it possibly get worse?"

"They printed it in the paper."

Not the _Times_, thank god, but in the _Daily News, _in the _Journal_, in the _Post _and even the _Village Voice_ there was the same letter, signed by fifty police officers and containing words like 'slander' and 'libel' and 'blatant disregard for safety,' and 'public menace.'

Josh moved his lips as he read the words, and Harvey touched Paul's shaking shoulder and asked him if he wanted coffee. It was after midnight and they all knew they'd be up for a while. Everyone murmured their assent for caffeine and Harvey melted away as Josh looked up at the agent. The younger Specter put on a small smile, "That's okay. They told Spider Man he was a public menace, too."

Paul pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought we grew out of the super hero thing a decade ago."

"You don't grow out of super heroes," Mike said, putting in his two cents for the first time (and, really, it was lucky he didn't speak up earlier. If you know Mike…) "If you're lucky, you grow into them. Harvey did."

"Damn straight," Harvey called from the kitchen where he was cursing out the coffee maker.

"He didn't say which super hero, Harv!" Josh pointed out, "You're the Thing. Ant Man, at best."

"I was thinking Captain Marvel," Mike said, "the one in the Marvel universe."

Josh raised an eyebrow, then grinned, "You mean the one who turned into Spectrum?"

"Wasn't that a girl?" Paul asked. He'd stopped shaking. Mike and Josh nodded, and then burst out laughing. The newspaper was put on the coffee table. Harvey came in and handed them all coffee and pointed out the many ways in which being a super heroine wouldn't be half bad, especially if you got to lead the Avengers. Josh sketched out his next comic that criticized the NYPD for racial profiling and Paul went from scared to angry. Mike came up with reasons why Harvey would make a terrible super hero and mostly sat without talking. His head hurt, but he wasn't going to mention something like that, not when everything seemed to be working its way back to normal.

It was two o'clock when Paul left, a cup of coffee to go in his hand and a wife and son waiting for him. It was two o'clock when Mike, whose headache was throbbing now, looked down at the comic sitting half-finished on the table and said "Paul, maybe you shouldn't do this one."

"I'm going to fix the skyline. It looks more like a forest that Central Park." Josh leaned over Mike and rubbed out a few lines with his thumb pad. He smelled like charcoal and coffee and some spice like nutmeg or cloves, something earthy and brown.

"No. I mean," his head pounded again and Mike remembered falling off his bike into blackness. He'd hated cars for a reason. "It's been—what? Eight months? Don't you think there's better ways to make a point?"

"Well, obviously they think a Letter to the Editor works well," Harvey said, "but you know that a picture is worth a thousand words. As in no one ever reads the words anymore."

Josh had gathered up his pictures and was staring at the one he'd drawn of Mike and Harvey earlier in the evening, when Harvey had his arm around Mike and was smiling at some legal jargon Mike had dug up. "You mean you think this would play out better in court."

"Well. Yeah. It's not like we don't have a case."

The younger Specter felt a flash of true anger and…shame? Maybe Harvey really would have liked him better if he'd been a lawyer. Like he obviously was smitten with Mike. "Not everything needs to go to court. I know that's your first instinct. Try to repress it."

"I just don't think-"

"Then don't think!" Josh exploded, "This isn't your life, Ross. This is mine, and my friend's. This isn't just a game I'm playing with the cops—it means something."

Mike stood up and started forward with the coiled power of Brooklyn. But Josh was no lightweight either. He remembered being poor in the slums of Boston. He remembered how to pack a punch. "It became my problem when they messed up my brain, Josh. You're turning this into everyone's problem. Does that seem fair to you?"

"It's not my fault!"

"A hit and run by a police car isn't your fault? Or that package Paul's baby was playing with the knife in it? You're hurting everyone around you for a stupid vendetta!"

Josh raised his closed fist and that's when Harvey stepped in, sliding smoothly in front of Mike. "Cool off, Josh," he said, tone brokering no argument. "Look at yourself."

And Josh looked. And his eyes narrowed, "I knew you'd side with him."

"I'm not siding with anyone. My apartment, my rules. Specters don't stoop to violence."

"I can't believe you're on his side," Josh said, and there was something like frustration, something like tears in his voice now. He turned away and walked out the door. It slammed behind him before Mike or Harvey would think of anything to say.

Mike winced as the door closed. He massaged his temples with his index fingers, closing his eyes. His head felt like it was going to explode. He didn't even notice Harvey until the older man cupped a hand under his chin and jerked it up. "What the hell was that?"

"Don't tell me you don't wish Josh would lay off this fight already," Mike mumbled, not quite able to meet Harvey's eyes. When had he become so fucking scared?

Harvey suddenly let him go, and the lack of contact was noticeable and cold. "You know how it kills him to see his friends put in danger. He goes to see Paul every day. He wouldn't leave your room when you were in the hospital. And you just throw that all in his face and accuse him of not caring? He cares, Mike."

"I know," Mike said miserably. He was so tired. Ever since the accident he'd been so tired all the time. He rubbed his eyes with closed fists, like a toddler, and when he looked back at Harvey his eyes were red. "I'm sorry, Harv. I really—I didn't mean it."

Harvey was already getting his coat, picking up a dark brown one that was definitely Josh's. It was nearly November. The temperatures were dropping rapidly, especially in this darkest part of the night. "You want to prove you're sorry? Think of where Josh might run off to before dawn."

"Maybe after Paul?" But even as he said the words Mike knew that wasn't right at all. Josh was angry, and when he was angry he picked fights. He turned the city upside down with some anger and a good pen.

Mike led the way, barreling through the lobby once the elevator doors parted. He took a left out of the building, and then another left, a right, flying down streets and in less than ten minutes they'd left a very good neighborhood and entered a very bad one.

Harvey more than kept up, his stride long and smooth, controlled like a great cat, like a great runner. "I know we have this puppy analogy going with you, but you're not a bloodhound, are you?"

"He's looking for a fight," Mike said, "I know he is. There's a cop bar over here."

He'd barely said the words when they found Josh surrounded by four cops. It didn't look like a punch had been thrown, but the sun wasn't even beginning to peek above the buildings yet and they were relying on the bar lights and street lights and moon lights.

Josh saw them over the tops of the cops head and smiled a reckless, rueful grin. He said something to the nearest cop and then something else, and that's how he got punched in the eye. That's how the fight between Joshua Specter and the entire New York City Police Force came to a head, came to an end.

By the time Harvey and Mike got to Josh's side, all four cops were on top of the younger brother. Mike jumped right into the fray, fighting with remembered skills from when he was twelve and angsty and got into fights all the time. Harvey skidded to a halt a foot away from the fight and snapped one, two, three pictures. God, he loved smart phones. Then he pulled the biggest cop up by the collar and held him there.

"We're going to end this right now," and Josh and Mike stepped back, holding themselves up with the wall, panting. Josh was hurt, and they wouldn't find out how bad until later. Mike had taken another blow to the head and was blinking black spots out of his eyes. They both recognized Harvey's "I'm going to say this only once" lecture voice. "We have eyewitnesses that can say a police cruiser put a man in the hospital, unprovoked. We have a bartender than can say a bunch of cops jumped two men in Brooklyn. And we have my handy dandy cell phone, which says that it was four cops against one skinny artist," Josh snorted and Harvey ignored him. "I'm Harvey Specter. I'm the best closer in the damn city. And that guy you just pummeled is my brother. By the time I'm finished with you you'll be nothing. Or you can shake my hand here and now and tell every other cop in this city that the open season on Josh Specter and Paul Stein has come to an end. You won't send them letters. You won't drive by their house. You'll take whatever my brother has to say about you in the paper with a nod and a smile and we can all pretend to be men."

The cops were breathing heavily. One cut his eyes to Mike and Josh, leaning against the wall. "You think four deputies have the power to stop this? Do you know how many of the higher ups are pissed about this? Nobody respects cops anymore. Nobody trusts us. That makes it harder for us to do our jobs."

"Paul has a little boy," Josh growled, sounding for all the world like Harvey when he spoke through gritted teeth. "A one year old."

The biggest cop, who'd wrestled his way out of Harvey's grasp before the lawyer's speech, shook his head. "I can't hand over my money to the courts. I got two girls in college."

"You can end this now," Harvey promised, "Or we'll go to court. And I don't lose."

The big cop nodded slowly, and stuck out his hand. There was more after that, words and swearing and the other cops feeling betrayed and Harvey feeling victorious, but Josh sagged against Mike and clawed a hand at the associate's neck. "Don't let Harvey see," he muttered, "Just get me back to the apartment."

So they went, and Mike let Josh lean against him and he stared straight ahead when he said, "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. That Irish kid packed a hell of a punch."

"I didn't mean—I know you care. About Paul and Harvey. I'm sorry."

Josh nodded, looking up at the tops of the buildings, "When I was little I wanted to be a lawyer like Harvey. Because Harvey liked lawyers and I wanted him to like me, too."

"Harvey adores you."

"Well, I know that now," Josh said, annoyed, "But I was nine and he was twenty-two and he had to take care of me. But the only thing I was ever good at was drawing. I got over wanting to be a lawyer. And then this smart ass kid comes in and he's everything Harvey always wanted me to be—everything I always wanted to be for him?" Josh sighed, sagged some more. "Ignore me. I'm going to pass out now."

"Harvey adores you," Mike repeated, "You're his brother."

Josh laughed, a short, incredulous sound. "Shoot, Mike. You are too."

**.***.**

**Because we think if Mike ever met Harvey's brother, there'd be a little jealousy there.**

**Thanks for everyone who assured us they like the plotline! it's not quite the end of the arc, but this is the last chapter where that's the main focus.**


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